


I went to Angela's Party

by Darke_Eco_Freak



Series: It's different but we still work [2]
Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Pseudo-Incest, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 23:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4584672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darke_Eco_Freak/pseuds/Darke_Eco_Freak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krista asks him about the party, if he went and had a good time. He told her no, he lied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I went to Angela's Party

**Author's Note:**

> So most of this was written before the reveal (?) of episode 8 and does not go with the idea of Mr. Robot being related to Elliot. Also, everything but the actual penetration sex was written before episode 8.

He'd promised Angela he'd try, he'd told Krista about the party, he'd even invited Shayla to come with him but none of that meant he liked it. Pop music had been blaring for the last few hours and given him a headache that was pounding in time with the beat. Angela had blown out her candles and pasted cake on Ollie's face while everyone laughed and cooed over how cute they were.

He just wanted to leave, go back to the nice, quiet comfort of his apartment and maybe get high with Shayla. Shayla who'd stayed by his side for the first couple hours but had wandered off to dance with Angela after the cake and gifts, they looked good. He could almost imagine the two of them living next door together, being together, Shayla and Angela would be good for each other. Maybe Angela would get a grip after she finally dumped Ollie and decide it was time to experiment a little more.

"Hey Elliot, great to see you man. You know, she thought you weren't coming but look at you! You're here and man, your girlfriend's really hot," Ollie laughed, hand coming dangerously close to brushing his shoulder. Elliot shrugged away from the man, he'd shown up for Angela, he didn't owe Ollie's cheating ass jack shit.

"Shayla isn't my girlfriend, we're just friends," he replied, eyes flitting from Ollie back out to the throng of party goers, some of them from AllSafe, others college friends Angela still kept in touch with. He could tell Ollie didn't believe him for one second but then Ollie was the type of guy that couldn't let a pretty girl pass by without looking. Angela had really shitty taste in men.

"Alright, whatever dude, so a couple of us were thinking about catching a movie. That racing show, Need for Speed, came out so we were gonna go check it out, maybe you and Shayla could come with?" Ollie suggested. He really wanted a smoke, or a hit, it had taken several hours of psyching himself up to actually come to the  _party_  and now Ollie thought he was some kind of social butterfly? Fuck that.

"Maybe, I'd have to check with Shayla," he explained for once having an actual, believable excuse which clearly threw Ollie off. He leaned away and blinked a couple times, like he needed to process anything other than 'I've got other plans'.

"Oh yeah sure, sure man, gotta check with your girl first. I totally understand, but uh, gimme a call when you find out, okay? Great, enjoy the rest of the party," Ollie called as he disappeared in the crowd. Elliot watched him go then looked down at the plate of cake, it was chocolate and vanilla marble with buttercream frosting, Angela's favourite. The last time he'd had it was for Angela's ninth birthday party, her dad had ordered one with a picture of the PowerPuff Girls on it because it was Angela's first birthday without her mom.

He hadn't touched it and some of the frosting had melted off, he left the plate on a table as he shoved his way outside. He hadn't realised how warm it was inside until he got out onto the street and breathed in the sharp air, Spring was on its way but Winter hadn't left yet. He threw up his hoodie, pulled out his phone and a smoke and started walking, he'd apologise to Angela later. Krista hadn't updated since this afternoon and Michael Hansen was still nowhere to be found, he'd have to crack down on that soon, he sent off a quick text to Shayla and lit up.

It felt beyond good to be able to walk without worrying about running into anyone. He hated parties, so many people, so much noise, and everyone expected him to like it, to like being with people he didn't know and getting drunk. He didn't like alcohol that much, only drank it with Angela anyway, he preferred cigs and morphine.

"Hey kid, where you off to this late?" a man, late thirties, early forties maybe, with oversized glasses and five o'clock shadow asked. There was…something about the man that didn't sit right with him, like this guy was supposed to be something else or someone else and the fact that he  _wasn't_  bothered him. He kept walking, whoever it was probably just mistook Elliot for someone else, he couldn't be the only guy in a hoodie in all of New York City.

"Aw don't be that way kiddo," the man continued, keeping pace with him even as he ignored him. Maybe the man was just another one of his delusions, Krista said they'd go away with the meds she prescribed but he wasn't taking the meds. Maybe he's upgraded from men in black suits to homeless people with too big smiles, he should just keeping ignoring it.

"Tell ya what, we can go for ice-cream, I'll even get you a triple fudge Sunday," the man promised, hands in his pockets, practically strolling alongside him. Clearly the guy was batshit, acting as though Elliot should know him but that triple fudge thing, he loved those. He used to get them with his dad after school, the one thing they had to just themselves because his mother was lactose intolerant. No one knew that though, about the ice-cream, he never had them anymore, who the fuck was this guy?

"Or we could head back to your apartment, that's fun too," the man prattled on and it was jolting to realise the man was right. Somehow he'd made his way back to the subway, his feet taking him there automatically even though he could just walk all the way back to his apartment, it would take half an hour but it wasn't like he was going to sleep any time soon.

"So, how was the party Elliot? Dance with any cute girls? Guys?" the man just didn't stop with the questions, even as they both passed through the turnstiles and he dropped onto one of the benches. He was nearly so busy ignoring the guy's annoying running commentary about what he thought about the state of the metro services and sexuality in America that Elliot almost missed his name.

"How do you know my name?" he asked, tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie. Fuck, had someone figured out one of his hacks? What if it was Vera? Or Krista? Had they hired this guy to tail him, to find out how much he knew? Or was it really just another delusion, it could be, fuck. He should've gone to the coffee house, exposed that pedophile Rohit and went about his regular life instead of going to the party, shit.

"You told me, here's the train," the man stated, getting to his feet and jogging along the platform so he could get one of the empty cars. There was a split second of hesitation, should he follow this guy or not? The sound of the doors opening made his decision for him and he was sprinting to catch up before he lost him, he got caught on the closing doors but made it.

"Geeze kid, cut it a little closer next time," the man scoffed but that smile was still there.

"Who are you?" he questioned, his voice was tense, hard, and too loud in the empty space. There was a backpack sitting on one of the empty seats, he was pretty sure it didn't belong to the guy but he snatched it up anyway. Shoved it against the rails along the seats and lay down along the benches, using the bag as a pillow.

"You always ask questions like that kiddo?" the man, well there a patch on his shirt 'Mr Robot' so it was as good a name as any, scoffed, the picture of comfort. He wanted that, the thought was odd, unwanted, but true all the same. He wanted to not care as much at Mr. Robot did and just do whatever the fuck he wanted, like start talking to some stranger or stretch out on the train like it was his living room.

"Come here."

He couldn't help but jump at the request, instruction, whatever. They didn't know each other, they had no idea what the other person was about, Elliot could be a psycho killer or some kind of undercover fed. Didn't stop Mr. Robot from holding his arms open as though he expected Elliot to just get up and join him.

"There you go," Mr. Robot murmured as he shoved the man's feet off the seat and sat down. He wanted another smoke, he really wanted another smoke, but the last time he'd tried, the conductor had made an announcement over the loud speaker and he didn't want to face that again. Instead, he took to sneaking glances at the man lying next to him, he'd pulled up his legs and closed his eyes, Elliot could almost believe he'd fallen asleep.

And the guy was even more familiar and out of place. He knew he'd never seen the guy before but at the same time it felt like he was lying to himself. Well he did have an imaginary friend that he talked to sometimes, maybe he was full on schizo and his delusions had turned into full body hallucinations. If he looked up would the carriage be filled with men in black suits who shouldn't be there?

Maybe he should start taking those pills Krista prescribed instead of just flushing them down the toilet or letting them go bad in a cupboard somewhere. He always picked up his prescriptions though, couldn't do anything to make her suspicious of him and give her a reason to extend their sessions. She could do that if she found out he wasn't following her instructions, he could fake listening to her and he could avoid her questions but the minute she smelt something up with the drugs she'd flip out.

"Yo kid, here's our stop," Mr. Robot announced, leaving the bag where it was as they got out. He made a note of looking around this time, no one noticed Mr. Robot, not really, but then again not many people went out of their way to notice supposedly homeless people. If that was what Mr. Robot was.

"How do you know where I live?" he mumbled as he pressed each button in the code, maybe harder than he needed to, Mr. Robot followed after, close enough to touch but not doing it he appreciated that.

"Why wouldn't I know where you lived," Mr. Robot answered, making his way inside as though he'd been there a thousand times. He even knew where Qwerty's food was and fed him, tracing the fish's outline on the glass of his tank. Elliot watched with mute curiosity. He shouldn't have come back home, he shouldn't have ever acknowledged Mr. Robot's existence now he had the man in his house and had no idea what to do now.

Should he call the police? Would they even come? He lived in a bad neighbourhood, they probably wouldn't care and they'd ask awkward questions that he wouldn't be able to answer. Maybe he could call Krista, she'd probably know what to do, or Shayla. She knew some people that could get crazy guys out of places you didn't want them to be, but they'd probably kill Mr. Robot and he didn't want a man's death on his hands.

"So kiddo, tell me, what's on your mind? I'm all ears," Mr. Robot proclaimed, leaning back on his couch, arms resting on the back and legs spread wide. Why did he notice that? So what if the man sat spread out on other people's couches, who cared, Elliot didn't, shouldn't.

"I didn't like Angela's party," he mumbled, he couldn't even look Mr. Robot in the face when he said it. He shouldn't feel bad about it, he'd gone to Angela's part of his own volition, he was a fucking adult and in charge of his own life.

"Alright, why not? Too many people? Because Shayla left to dance with Angela?" the man suggested, eyes so earnest behind those huge glasses of his. He huffed softly, those were both good reasons, reasons he could use but they weren't  _the_  reason. He didn't know  ** _the_**  reason, at least he didn't think he did.

"Or maybe you just wanted to do something else, a line, a hack?" again all good reasons but still not why he hated it. Was it because of the crush of bodies, the sweat and general human banality that sloshed around when a roomful of mostly strangers got together? He didn't like people, they were always trying to make him do things with them, go places, talk about things, he didn't like it. Maybe he hated the feeling of transparency, feeling as though he didn't exist to any of the people there.

"…or you wanted to spend your night doing something nice, or some _one_." Elliot hadn't even realised Mr. Robot was still talking until he picked up on the change in tone. He was good at it, better than people gave him credit for because he usually chose not to act on it, he noticed subtleties didn't mean he was going to lead off of them. Why should he when it was so much easier to play dumb and let people spill all their secrets to him?

This time though he acted on it because there was something in him that was saying yes, even if the rest was saying no. Maybe it was his conscience, or common sense, warning him off the man he didn't know jack shit about, away from the man that could be an undercover cop or a delusion. He wasn't sure how he'd react if it turned out Mr. Robot was just a delusion, maybe do even more morphine than he already did and fuck off with the suboxone.

He'll blame it on that later, when he came back to his senses and realised that he really had done what he was about to. Mr. Robot's legs were wide, like he'd noticed before, but Elliot was flexible, naturally seeing as he didn't do anything more than walk to and from this place or that. So it wasn't much of a stretch to spread his own legs wide enough to kneel, knees on either side of Mr. Robot's hips.

"Well this is different," Mr. Robot commented idly, hands still resting on the back of the couch, doing nothing more than smiling and looking at him. He almost, almost, wanted to wipe that fucking smile off his face. Wanted to slap the man as hard as he could and ask him what the fuck he was so happy with, but he didn't, couldn't. Instead, he let his hands cup the man's cheeks, touch tentative as he rubbed his palms against the dark beginnings of a beard.

He liked the scratch of it, the prickling under his fingertips, wondered what it would feel like to rub his cheek against Mr. Robot's. He traced the man's lips, thinner than his own, but softer, not bitten and worried like his, he wondered what the man would taste like.

"You gonna look all night kiddo, or are you gonna take what you want?" Mr. Robot sighed as though he expected no less from him, as though Elliot always promised and always disappointed. He felt the breath catch in his chest, felt like hiccupping, felt like punching the too laid back man right in the throat. He kissed him.

Mr. Robot was oddly passive, not pushing back, barely moving in time with him. Not to say he didn't like it, he did, Mr. Robot was one of the only people Elliot's ever kissed but he was the first to not demand anything from him. Even when he's high on ecstacy with Shayla she still managed to lead, to initiate the kisses, to start stripping off his clothes, one layer at a time. Mr. Robot was different.

He felt as though he could keep kissing him for hours and the man wouldn't complain, wouldn't ask for more. He did though, for once he wanted more and if he wasn't going to be stopped, then he had no problem taking as much as he could. It felt strange to be selfish, to be selfish here at least, without any form of retribution.

"I want," he started but couldn't continue, he was using to wanting things and never getting them, it'd be the same thing here. He shouldn't even ask, shouldn't expose his source code like that, it was stupid and something only amateurs did. He wasn't an amateur.

"Not a mind reader here Elliot, you gotta use your words," Mr. Robot instructed, voice low as though Elliot was some small animal ready to run away at the first sign of danger, before even. He wasn't wrong but Elliot wanted this more, so much more and the things he wanted the most were usually the things he never got. So was it better to ask for it or just stay quiet?

"I…want you," he whispered, barely believing those words had come from his mouth, had slipped from his tongue against thin, inviting lips. The couch shifted under them, Mr. Robot was going to push him off, sneer in his face about wanting things he couldn't have and walk out. Or worse, he was going to tell him all about the police case he'd just built up on him, that he knew about the morphine and the hacking and all the vigilante work he'd been doing over the past year and how this time it would be actual prison and not just visits to a therapist.

He was fucked, he was so fucked, and  ** _not_**  in the good way.

"All you had to do was ask," Mr. Robot snickered, hands finally moving to rest lightly, so softly, on his hips. He could feel those fingers through his shirt, through his pants, so obviously there despite common sense dictating he shouldn't be able to feel shit. How much worse would actual skin on skin contact feel, how much better?

"We'll take it slow," the man promised as though sensing his growing apprehension. He hated that about himself, no matter what he did, he always felt that panic, that paranoia edging in, damned if you do damned if you don't. He swallowed, hard, but didn't pull away, he wanted this, he wanted this, he could do this.

"Okay," he mumbled, letting his breath out in a short puff. The hands on his hips migrated up his sides, stopping at each rib as if mapping out his body, his hoodie and shirt went with them. The clothes got tossed somewhere behind them, so fluidly, so easy, and then he was shirtless in Mr. Robot's lap because he wanted to be.

He started badly at the thumbs rubbing circles into his collar bone, jerked away from the touch and nearly went sprawling, only Mr. Robot's quick reflexes kept him anywhere near upright. His chest was heaving and they hadn't even done anything yet, fuck he needed to calm down otherwise Mr. Robot might decide he wasn't fucking worth it and walk back out the door. If he was real.

"Calm down, kid, I ain't going anywhere. It's just me and I ain't gonna hurt you. I'd never hurt you Elliot, I love you kid," Mr. Robot murmured, voice doing what his hands couldn't and reaching deep into that place that didn't allow good to exist and squashing it, if only for a minute. He felt his muscles relaxing, the ache in his jaw fading away to something more tolerable, even the perpetual radiating pain that ate up his lower back dwindled away to something ignorable.

 _'I love you kid'_ the words chased themselves around in his head, running together and slurring and echoing but still there. Loved him,  _him,_   ** _Elliot_**. They kept bouncing back and forth, stifling everything else, even his fear of touch, as Mr. Robot cupped one hand around his neck and reeled him in for another kiss. Deeper, much deeper than the one he'd started, with tongue and the barest hint of teeth.

He felt conquered, decimated, wanted,  _loved_ , as the foreign appendage mapped its way through his mouth, licked across his teeth and slid along his own tongue in a way that should be disgusting but wasn't. He'd been never kissed like this before, with Shayla it was mostly chaste, never really meant to mean anything more than a quick, drug induced fix. This kiss was dirty, down right filthy, he liked it.

He vaguely realised he was hard when he shuffled closer, spreading his legs wider, as he pressed his bare chest against Mr. Robot's shirt. His jeans weren't that tight but they still had a limit, he'd reached it and now his cock felt painfully confined in them. He wanted to grind down on Mr. Robot, to rock with how hard he was being fucked.

"You're a desperate one, ain't ya kid? It's okay, not like I'm into that denial shit," Mr. Robot joked, the hand that wasn't around his neck slipping down to apply just enough pressure on his clothed crotch to make him need more. He leaned into the touch, tried to get the pressure he wanted but was left clenching his teeth on a desperate whine. His hands were braced on the back of the couch, fingers digging into the faux leather, while Mr. Robot just grinned at him, laughter dancing in those green eyes.

He was about to say something, about picking up the speed or just doing something when he got pushed down onto a very hard prick.  _I love you_. It was instinctual, one of the few things his brain told him that was applicable to his current situation. He ground down, relished in Mr. Robot's choked gasp, sounded like someone had punched him hard in the chest, and did it again.

It felt good to be the one doing the teasing, to have Mr. Robot's hands on the swell of his ass, pressing him down and feeling the rumble of groans deep in his chest. It was heady, nearly as good as taking a hit of morphine where instead of getting numb, the aches were soothed. He wanted to feel like this every day, invincible, wanted, desired.

"Elliot, if you want to move on to the main event, I suggest you stop doing that," and fuck, his voice was just as steady, as playful as it was when Elliot refused to acknowledge him on the street. It was jarring and incentive, made him want to do better, to do more, until Mr. Robot sounded as wrecked as Elliot  _felt_.

"Maybe we should move this to the bed?" he prompted, eyebrow cocked while that fucking smirk highlighted those red, red lips. Elliot wanted to bite them harder so that tomorrow morning there would be some sort of proof that this happened, that he took something for himself for once. But there was only so much he could have at a time and he leaned back, got his numb feet under him and took the few crucial steps to his mattress.

Shayla had commented on it before. Asked why he slept on the floor instead of an actual bed, he'd told her something about bed frames being expensive. Which they were but there were the excuses he gave and the reasons he had and the reason behind this was simply he liked not being able to fall out of bed. To be as close to the ground as possible so he couldn't be dragged or pushed out of bed and hit the ground hard enough to bruise.

He dropped to his knees on the mattress, fingers working at his fly, eyes never leaving Mr. Robot as the man leisurely got to his feet and stripped. First went the scarves, two, then the jacket and shirt and t-shirt, last the jeans the man wore so many layers. Layers against the cold, layers like the modern day armour of a knight on a crusade against the injustice of the world.

He stared at the man's body, committed it to memory, the muscles, the blemishes, the scars, because he might never get the chance again. Well-built were the words that came to mind, not hefty or athletic but he had broad shoulders and was no doubt strong, Elliot liked that for some reason. He also liked the sight of the cock straining in blue plaid boxers, there was something satisfying about it, as the man came to kneel in front of him.

"You're pretty sexy when you don't try Elliot, did ya know that?" Mr. Robot growled, hand coming up to cup his face, lips stopping a breath away from his. He knew what was happening, what this was, his last chance to back out, to say no thank you and walk away. He didn't take it, he took Mr. Robot's lips instead, leaning into the touch and pressing their mouths together again.

There's an edge that wasn't there before, something sharper and wilder than before and he liked it just as well. He wasn't made of glass, he wasn't going to break no matter what Shayla said, he wanted something hard and rough. So he dug his fingers into the other's biceps and dragged him in nice and close, using tongue and teeth in a brutal assault he never thought himself capable of, Shayla would be proud.

He could taste the spice of blood, his or Mr. Robot's? He couldn't tell, his lips felt sore, tingly, and he was breathing hard, eyes lidded as he pulled back to stare at Mr. Robot. His eyes were blown, everything was so bright, and he wanted to just jerk off right now instead of trying to wait for more.

"Well alright then, Elliot," and it's not kid, or kiddo, it's Elliot. He could guess that it was Mr. Robot's show of commitment to this deal they've made. Fuck, that sounded like someone was going to walk away afterwards counting their cash, he needed to work on his wording.

He also needed to stop getting lost in his head because he gets tackled to the mattress and pinned firmly by the comfortable weight of the man above him when he did. His underwear was also gone, missing somewhere but he had a lot of them he could spare a pair. It didn't matter much when a warm, slightly rough hand stroked him once, twice, just to get a feel of what they'd be working with.

Elliot jerked with each upstroke, his breath rushing from his lungs as he enjoyed the feeling. Sex was, well, it wasn't anything he thought about much, he didn't really care about it but it was nice when he got it.

"Got any lotion?" he barely heard the question, too caught up in replaying the seconds in his head. He swallowed hard and nodded at the bedside table, he was pretty sure Shayla had left a bottle of something the last time she was here, she liked to cream her legs after she got him his drugs. He heard something fall, nothing important, before the draw's slammed shut and there was one less hand on his wrist.

There was a second of…consideration as Robot poured the vanilla body cream on his hand, did he really want some stranger fucking him? But he'd already answered that question and the cream was cold on his bare ass, slippery and wet, but did the job. He should actually buy lube, sometime, it was a good thing to have on hand.

He let out another breath, this one stuttering as a careful finger slid into his ass, felt weird, felt good. He felt like he'd done a line before they started, all loose and numb, perfectly relaxed, he didn't even blink when another finger joined the party. He just let the sensations wash over him, gasping and clutching at the sheets when it got too much or moaning when his remembered how vocal cords worked.

"Shit," he breathed, staring up at the ceiling with too wide eyes while Mr. Robot smirked and curled his fingers against his prostate again. He spent another couple minutes fucking around, brushing by or hitting dead on, making Elliot whine or groan in disappointment or from an overload of pleasure.

"You ready?" was he expected to answer that? Because fuck, he could barely string together the syllables of his own name much less the actual word yes. It must have been apparent by his blissed out expression because the teasing, torturous fingers were gone and he wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or glad. He never got the chance to answer his own question, not when there was a blunt cock resting against his ass, belonging to an asshole that liked to tease.

Ask him later and he wouldn't be able to answer where he'd found the coordination to lift himself onto his elbows and rock back onto that dick. It wasn't much, not even a full inch he was nearly one hundred percent on that, but it was enough get Mr. Robot to move. A snap of his hips and he was resting comfortably in Elliot's ass, hands on his hips, keeping him still pinned to the bed and a sharper version of his carefree smile dancing on his lips.

Elliot forgot how to breathe, the air felt as thick as water and his throat didn't know how to do anything other than let out soft, quieter than thought whimpers. He could hear himself, he sounded…desperate, which was good because he was. He wanted Mr. Robot to move, to slam into him again and again until he couldn't even remember what his own name sounded like much less what it was. One of his legs was lifted, hitched up around a sturdy hip, and the new position made him want to die.

"Doing great," Mr. Robot breathed against his collar bone then bit his neck and sucked. He choked on a moan when the man rocked back, letting his prick slip out slow.

"So great." And he slammed home hard, Elliot was sure he would've slid up the mattress if he wasn't being held. After that, it's a constant contrast between being brutally fucked so hard his floor creaked; of having his prostate nailed so hard he couldn't  _breathe_ , of being bitten and scratched and kissed hard enough to hurt his teeth. All juxtaposed with being fucked so carefully and gently he wanted to run, where the thrusts were nearly too slow to qualify and the kisses were sweeter than honey.

There was also a hand on his dick, stroking at a steady pace no matter how he was being fucked. Long, casual strokes that thumbed the head and teased the slit back down tracing along the vein and up to do it all again. Losing his mind, he was fucking losing his mind.

Oh wait no, he was just so close to cumming he could already taste the aftershocks. He felt as though he should say something, it was just common curtesy or something but Shayla was always saying he needed to stop being such a nice guy. Did that apply here? Should he play dumb? Should he not say anything?

"Cl-close," he choked, arching up into a particularly hard thrust that nailed the little bundle of nerves that sent him reeling. And he came. Hot and thick against his and Mr. Robot's stomachs and felt as though his veins were full of molly. Everything felt so good, so nice, he never wanted to stop feeling this.

The hand on his cock continued stroking through his transcendent orgasm, fuck seeing heaven or god or stars, he didn't need to see anything. The prick in his ass sped up, slamming in and out of him as Mr. Robot chased his own orgasm. There were teeth against his neck, right on his Adam's apple, leaving a mark that would show for days and he didn't give a shit.

He was expecting a hot spurt of liquid, to feel dirty afterwards but there was nothing, he hadn't noticed the condom. Shit, he needed to pay more attention, but not right now. Everything was sensitive, his dick, his ass, even his lips felt tender, and when Mr. Robot pulled out, he couldn't help the moan that bubbled out of his throat. He usually slept on his side, curled up with his back to the wall and face to the door in case of, of anything, but he couldn't even move his fingers.

"It's okay kiddo, I'll take care of you," Mr. Robot murmured, running a wet rag over his stomach, he'd missed the part where the man left the room. But he could be excused for that right? It wasn't every day he got fucked within an inch of his life by some stranger.

"I'm here." The felt fingers card through his hair and pair of lips on his forehead, that was nice.

* * *

"Tell me, did you go to Angela's party?" Krista asked, she was trying to change the subject, he knew it, she knew it, no one cared. He thought about telling her, telling her that Angela had the same cake she'd had after her mother died and that he had hated it. Maybe he could even tell her about Mr. Robot who hadn't been there when he woke up.

There'd been a pot of coffee on the counter but other than that and the prominent marks littered across his body, the aches and pains, there was no sign of the man ever existing. How would Krista take it? Would she be shocked that he'd had indiscriminate sex with a possibly dangerous man or would she take it as improvement?

"No, but I did go to a coffee shop. They had fast wifi and the barista was nice, even got her number," he lied, so easily, so effortlessly. He smiled at his court mandated therapist and tried to forget how no one had seemed to notice the hickies on his neck and collar bones and shoulders. People just ignored most things, that was all.

"She likes the hunger games."


End file.
